Page 48 of Ruins
I find myself looking forward.
To the possibilities. To the unknown. To the future.
And all I can see in that future...
isher.
Chapter 11
Vasilisa
ThedatewithSantolast night went better than expected. At lunch, I glance down at the ring on my finger. It’s breathtaking—and heavier than I thought it would be. A constant, unshakable reminder of the responsibility I carry for my family.
Santo’s comment about how I should eat more lingers in my mind throughout the day. I stare at the plate in front of me, barely touched. He’d expect more, but I’ve always been picky when it comes to food. I’m more of a snacker. The salmon linguine yesterday was perfect—one of my favorites—but the beef stroganoff served at Maksim’s penthouse? Not so much. I’d much rather have pelmeni or kasha, but asking for that would earn me one of my mother’s patented looks of disappointment. Embarrassing her in front of Maksim would be a near death sentence.
Not that she’d actually strike me with my wedding so close. But there are other ways she could make me miserable before my nuptials.
I push the food around with my fork, making it look like I’ve eaten something. My mother sits to my left, Mimi to my right, devouring everything on her plate. Across from her, Pietro catches my gaze, his eyes flicking to my barely touched meal before settling back on me with silent curiosity. I offer him a passive smile.
My mother and father’s animated conversation with Maksim pulls me from my thoughts. My cousin has changed his hair color yet again. At the club, his platinum hair had been dyed a cool blue to match his icy eyes, but now it’s dark purple. He smiles at my mother as he speaks, and though Maksim is an intimidating presence—tall, fit, and always looking slightly furious—it could just be the tattoos and piercings he wears that give him that vibe.
To me, though, he’s still mymishka—the affectionate name I gave him when I was little. He was always kind to me. Right up until I became useful.
His gaze locks onto mine, and the corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk.
“Kisa, how are you? I heard about your date with Santo. Did all go well?” Maksim asks smoothly, using the childhood nickname he gave me. His tone is casual, but his gaze is sharp, always reading between the lines.
“It went well,” I say quietly.
The ring catches the light, gleaming like it has a life of its own. My mother lifts my left hand, and for a brief moment, I feel its weight pressing down harder than before—like a shackle I didn’t notice tightening until now.
“She’s being modest,” my mother interjects, turning my hand toward Maksim.
His eyes flick to the ring, lighting up with recognition. He nods, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands under his chin, studying me with something close to amusement. “His mother’s ring.”
I shift under his gaze. “Yes. He said it was hers,” I answer, even though he never actually asked.
Maksim smiles, reaching for his glass and raising it. “A toast—to your union and our alliance. Thank you, Kisa, for your constant support to the Bratva.”
Glasses clink around me, and I take a sip of the clear liquid, swallowing before I can even think. It burns down my throat, settling uncomfortably in my stomach, sour and unforgiving.
***
Back home, I sit by my bedroom window, watching Mimi and Pietro walk the grounds of our estate. They move side by side, talking, their silhouettes shifting under the dimming light. A sharp pang of jealousy bites at me. Pietro hasn’t spoken to me in a while. He saw the ring this morning and said nothing.
Maybe our friendship really is over. Or maybe it never was a friendship—just duty disguised as something more.
My phone vibrates. I glance down.
Santo.
My heart leaps unexpectedly. I stare at his name, debating whether to answer. A part of me is… nervous, unsure of why he might be calling.
Taking a slow, steady breath, I press the green button and bring the phone to my ear.
“Vasilisa.”
My name rolls off his tongue like a slow pull of velvet, and despite myself, a thrill races down my spine.
